


Enough

by RedChucks



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dan in a wheelchair, M/M, Mention of Surgery, happy endings, mention of medical issues, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 19:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: Fifteen years on, Dan is still writing and railing against the unfairness of the world, but for a different cause.-So, I often think about the possibility that Dan didn't just recover easily from the window fall, and didn't get away with only a few broken bones. And as someone with a lot of bone and spinal issues and chronic pain, who's partner is a full-time wheelchair user, projecting on to Dan and Jones is one of my favourite pass times.





	Enough

“Dan?” came the whisper, as soft and thrilling as the feel of the fingers sliding up his chest, pushing past the blankets to touch his warm, bare, skin. “Dan? Hey, Dan. Danny. Daniel? Daniel James? Daniel James Ashcroft.” The voice was sing-song, calling him out of sleep, teasing him toward wakefulness, the words building him, knitting him together, making him anew. “Daniel James Ashcroft Jones. Oi, come on Dan. Mr Ashcroft-Jones! Husband! Dan you lazy fucking twat, open your eyes, I know you’re awake.”

Dan did open his eyes at that, grinning slowly as he wrapped his arms around Jones’ torso, tracing his fingers along the man’s hips and the tattoos he knew were there, the lines and patterns he knew without even looking. There was rain rattling against the ancient walls of the House of Jones and the light in the bedroom was a deep and comforting wine-dark blue, a swirl of shadows and light that reminded him of lonely walks on cliff tops and turbulent northern seas. 

He let out a breath, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, closing his eyes again as Jones settled his weight above him, pressing kisses to his collar bone. He had no idea what the time was but surely it was early enough that he didn’t need to move yet. The bed was too warm, too comfortable to leave behind just yet; was the only place he was ever really comfortable, especially when Jones was there beside him. But Jones, it seemed, was working with a different set of facts, and Dan felt the man’s wicked grin blossom against his skin as he kissed his shoulder.

“Edmund,” he said, putting on his most ridiculous, comedic german accent. “Did you vant to go to ze battle, zis morning?”

“No, mother, no!” Dan responded with his best Black Adder impression. “Ten more minutes.”

Jones giggled and pressed against him more firmly, his kisses light and playful, and Dan felt his own laughter bubbling up, a soft chuckle as he closed his eyes again, reveling in the simple contentment of the moment.

He’d never thought, fifteen years ago, that contentment would be possible, or even something he would want. He’d wanted to change the world, to rail against its ignorance and stupidity. A decade and a half down the line the world was still stupid and driving toward a brick wall with no signs of slowing, and he was still writing about how much he hated it, and the faults of those with the power to stop it, but somewhere along the line he’d found space for a small slice of personal happiness too.

Dan wasn’t the sort to believe that the events of life happened for a reason. He didn’t believe in karma or fate, but these days he was more open to the possibilities of life. He’d never believed it was possible to find a lover who was also a friend either, someone who put up with his rubbish moods and questionable taste in beer, and was willing to binge-watch ‘Black Adder’ with him and respect his space and his need for silence and need for noise to drown out the demons in his head. But even if he hadn’t believed, Jones had been there all the same, putting up with his self-destructive shit before he jumped out of Barley’s window, putting up with his broken body and mind in the months and years after. 

It hadn’t been easy, far from it in fact, but it had been worth it and even if life was still difficult and painful Dan couldn’t deny that sometimes he was genuinely happy, and that most of the time he felt content, especially at times like this, when Jones was kissing along his collar bone, nuzzling against him and rubbing his warm body against Dan’s in a thoroughly distracting manner.

“Come on, babe,” Jones murmured against his skin. “We need to get up and get going, yeah? You’ve got physio at ten and I’ve got to be at the record store and there’s new stock coming in around lunchtime. Then you’ve got that radio interview this afternoon. Busy day all round. So we need to get moving and get our shit together.”

Dan groaned and wrapped his arms more firmly around Jones, burying his face in the crook of Jones’ neck. “No. My physio’s trying to kill me. She’s a sadist. I’m just going to stay here forever. It’s nice here. It’s warm. Tell the world to fuck off and come back tomorrow.”

Jones laughed and wriggled out of Dan’s grasp, tickling down Dan’s ribs as he sat up, grinning wickedly. “She’s good and she’s doing good things, keeping your legs from... I dunno... fallin’ off or cramping’ up so bad I can’t get your shoes on. And she’s nice. You know she’s nice. So you have to be nice too, yeah?”

Dan looked up with difficulty. It didn’t matter that he loved Jones and had done for over a decade and a half, eye contact was still hard and not something he liked to do under normal circumstances. But any conversations about Dan’s legs and therapists and doctors were serious and difficult for both of them. Jones had stood by him and he owed it to him to show he was listening. 

“I’ll be nice,” he promised with a sigh. “I’m always nice. I am.” He gave a sly smile as he ran his hands down Jones’ muscled torso. “I don’t have to be nice to the interviewer though, do I? I’m pretty sure they actually want me to be the ‘biting and sarcastic voice of the disabled community’. They want rude because it’s interesting. And my publisher wants rude because it sells. And I’m doing the interview over the phone because their offices aren’t wheelchair accessible. An interview about equal access.” Dan could feel the righteous anger rising up already and fought to keep it in check. Jones had listened to him rant about stairs and heavy doors and the general lack of wheelchair accessibility in the world more times than either of them could count, he didn’t need to hear it again. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Jones told him with a shake of his head and a quick kiss. “They’re pricks and you’re probably right about them wantin’ you to be all angry. You can let them have it, I reckon. But be nice to the physio, yeah? I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

He gave Dan a saucy smile and waggled his eyebrows until Dan began to chuckle, but when he tried to pull Jones down in to another kiss he moved back and out of his reach, pulling the blankets off of both of them and then jumping from the bed to snatch up several random and mismatched items of clothes to wear. 

Dan groaned again but then gave it up in favour of concentrating on sitting up. It was still a struggle, and likely always would be, but his arms were a lot stronger than they’d once been (thanks to his physio) and he’d learnt to maneuver himself in and out of bed, an achievement that he had once thought was beyond him. 

It was strange to think that when he’d first woken up in the hospital after jumping out of Barley’s window the thing he’d been most concerned about was the multitude of idiots surrounding his bed. It wasn’t until the doctors had entered, their expressions stony, Jones trailing tearfully in their wake, that Dan had realised there was something more serious going on. Broken bones they could set, broken bones could heal, but Dan’s spine... there wasn’t much they could do about crushed nerves. There was a reason he couldn’t feel any pain in his broken leg. He couldn’t feel his legs at all.

The weeks that followed had been a blur of pain, doctors speaking in serious voices about serious consequences, physiotherapists, occupational therapists, social workers. Dan had wanted to die, but all the doctors did in response was add antidepressants to his list of medications and set him up with a psychologist as well. It had been hell and he’d mourned the loss of his legs like nothing else in his life, more than he’d mourned his parents. A fact which he knew to be true because Claire had pointed it out to him, in her uniquely insensitive way. Then she’d stormed out of the hospital and had refused to come back. 

She had tried to be supportive when Dan finally came home, and had at least been successful in telling Barley and the SugarApe crowd to leave him alone, but she hadn’t stayed. Dan had needed the bed for a start and there was no way she was going to sleep in the living room with Jones making hellish music all through the night. Dan was quietly relieved to see her go. He loved his sister but couldn’t bear to watch her creeping around him, acting so falsely cheerful and moving furniture out of the way when he struggled slowly around the house in his rickety hospital chair. It had been a relief when she’d moved out really, or that was what Dan told himself. 

It also left no buffer between himself and Jones. Which was how a casual relationship had become a solid one, especially once Jones demonstrated how easy it was to give Dan a lap dance in his wheelchair. Jones had also had zero qualms about knocking down walls to make access easier and doorways wider, and demolishing their bathroom to make it a ‘Dan friendly zone.’ It had been seeing him in work gloves and low slung jeans, a cut off crop top, knot tied at the the side, and covered in plaster dust as he removed the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, that Dan had realised that he absolutely loved the hell out of Jones and would do anything to make him happy. 

And it turned out that being with Jones was easy, once he gave himself permission, and that the wheelchair was at the perfect height for blowjobs, and bit by bit, Dan began to make peace with how life had changed. He had rotten luck, and he didn’t believe in fate or karma, but he was pretty sure he believed in Jones, and in ignoring life’s problems with DVD boxsets of eighties comedies when life got too hard.

“Come on, Danny Jones,” Jones teased him kindly, dropping the jeans he’d been about to put on and skipping back across the room to jump back on the bed, straddling Dan’s hips and effectively stopping Dan from getting out of bed even as he urged him to get going. “Need some help getting your muscles moving?”

Dan grinned up with a chuckle. “The only thing stopping me from getting up right now is you, you wing nut.” 

Dan ran his hands across Jones’ hips and up under the open patterned shirt that had once belonged to him, the neon green singlet underneath, and unicorn patterned girl’s t-shirt under that; the clothing that Jones had chosen for the day. It was a bizarre outfit but Jones never seemed to care and Dan not-so-secretly loved Jones’ fashion sense. He traced his fingers over Jones’ skin, squeezing the flesh with delight, pleased as ever to see some fat on the man he loved after so many years of feeling only bones. Jones had worked his arse off to provide for them both; to pay for a comfortable, supportive wheelchair, and decent physio, and all the other bits and pieces they found they needed just to carry on with life like everyone else. He’d stuck by Dan when he’d tried his hand at writing, and through every failed manuscript and every rejection letter, and every bottle of cheap beer that Dan drank and instantly regretted. When Dan had lost his benefits and been deemed fit for work Jones had worked even harder, and got drunk right along with him to rail at the unfairness of it all. And when Dan had finally gotten his work published - both a book a regular column in the paper - Jones had celebrated right along with him. 

When Dan had been faced with the prospect, earlier that year, of more surgery, to stop his worsening scoliosis, Jones had been there too, and had admitted how terrified he’d been when Dan had first been injured and they had tried to deny Jones access to his bedside in the ICU, because they weren’t family. The vulnerability in Jones’ eyes had nearly broken his heart.

Dan had never expected Jones to say yes to getting married, it wasn’t really their thing, didn’t fit with the lives they led, but it had been a practical solution to their problem, and to Jones’ fear, so they’d wheeled on down to the Register Office and signed the papers and changed their names, and that was that.

And suddenly Dan had a husband. The same man who quoted ‘Black Adder’ and ‘The Young Ones’ at him and stole his shirts and socks and made the best mac’n’cheese Dan had ever tasted and never tried to take control of his wheelchair without his consent. It was hard not to feel content when he had all of that in his life. 

Dan squeezed Jones’ sides again, running his thumbs over the soft hips, groaning as Jones pressed down against his groin. 

“I don’t want to get up. I want to stay here. It’s cold out there.”

“Ah,” Jones laughed again, putting on another ridiculous accent as he waggled his eyebrows. “But I have a plan, my lord.” 

“A plan?” Dan responded, playing along and running his hand up higher, to rest over Jones’ chest. “Is it possibly... a cunning plan?”

Jones grinned at him wickedly before he leaned in to kiss Dan slowly, tugging on his bottom lip for a moment before beginning to kiss a trail down his neck and chest to his increasingly tented boxer shorts. He looked up with a smile and a wink, reminding Dan of a kitten preparing to pounce. 

“It’s a very cunning plan, my lord,” he whispered, somehow making the silliness sexy as he began to edge the boxers lower. “I’m gonna suck you off, you know, for warmth. An’ then, if you can tell me tonight that you were nice at physio and a raging river of bile and justice on the radio, I might just suck you off again. Sound like a plan?”

Dan could only laugh shakily as his boxers were pulled down his thighs and Jones set to work waking him up in every way. He hadn’t expected the life he’d ended up with, the good or the bad, but he thought maybe that was a good thing. It was good to be surprised by life every now and again. 

Jones moved fast, grasping his cock tightly and pumping it a few times before diving in with his mouth, sending shudders along Dan’s spine that were actually pleasant. He was so used to pain, so resigned to the fact that even though the crushed vertebrae had healed they’d never stopped hurting, and the muscles around them had never stopped pulling, that pleasure always caught him by surprise. It was one of the reasons Jones insisted on regular blowies (one of the many reasons) because he insisted that Dan’s body needed lots of reminders that it could feel something other than pain. He also insisted it was a miracle that Dan could still get a stiffy and that he needed to do daily checks to make sure, which never failed to make Dan crack a smile, even after fifteen years.

He gasped as Jones increased his pace, and ran his fingers through the dyed black, red, and blue hair. He could hear the wet noises of Jones getting himself off at the same time and wished he could maneuver himself around and help him out. He still struggled with being so helpless, knew he would never quite make his peace with it, but it was fuel for the fire in a way, and made him fight harder for the things he could do. He’d never wanted to be a prophet or a mascot or a spokesperson but was much happier being one for wheelchair users than he had been as the Idiot King. He’d met a five-year-old the other day who had been denied funding for a wheelchair because she could technically still fit in to a stroller. The righteous anger he’d felt on her behalf had felt so good and railing against the unfairness of it in print, and to the family’s MP had actually left him feeling he had accomplished something worthwhile.

But it was hard to focus on any of that when Jones was bobbing his head with such enthusiasm and whining around his cock. Jones had used to try and apologise for having so little finesse when it came to blow jobs but Dan had refused to let him put himself down. Whatever Jones might lack in skill he more than made up for in enthusiasm and Dan wouldn’t dream of complaining. He had nothing to compare Jones’ technique to, for a start, and he genuinely loved how much fun Jones had when giving blowies. It made him feel like he could enjoy them without shame and that was a rare thing in Dan’s life, had been almost unheard of fifteen years ago, when he’d chosen to jump out of Nathan’s window rather than deal with the consequences of his actions. 

His breath hitched and stuttered as he felt his orgasm hit, his body attempting to buck in to the sensation even though he knew it couldn’t, and it hurt, his spine hurt, but it was worth it for the glorious feeling of bliss that came with it and he grabbed at the pillow under his head as his body shook through the strong sensations, gasping as Jones continued to suck and swallow around him. He could still hear the wet sounds of Jones working himself, could feel the mattress shaking, but it was a moment before he had the strength to pull Jones up toward him and in to his arms, kissing him furiously and replacing Jones’ hand with his own. The desperate little sigh that escaped Jones’ lips when Dan’s large hand wrapped around his cock spurred Dan on and he was thankful for the years of training his arms had had that allowed him to work Jones’ cock and knead his arse at the same time with the same level of enthusiasm that Jones had showed.

He felt capable and in control as he made Jones cum, the hot liquid spilling all over his stomach as Jones made dainty huffed gasps in to his mouth. He could do whatever he needed to do, could do anything Jones needed him to, when he felt like this. It was bliss. When Jones kissed him hard and fast before moving off of him, Dan whined and tried to drag him back again but Jones just laughed and grabbed up his pants, breaking the moment and shaking them both back in to the real world. 

“I’ll go get the shower chair, yeah?” he grinned breathlessly, looking over Dan’s body and the spunk cooling on his skin. “Gotta clean you up so you look presentable.” He waggled his eyebrows and flounced out of the room, leaving Dan to haul himself up enough for the transfer, chuckling to himself at how ridiculous it was to be so in love with someone when he was fast approaching forty and still getting off with him the way they’d done as horny young men barely out of their teens.

When he finally made it in to his chair, showered and dressed and nursing his second coffee, and Jones had stumbled off to open the little record shop he  somehow managed to make profitable through sheer force of will and charming personality, Dan set about making notes for his next article. Most people still expected him to write emotive and inspirational articles about how his disability had taught him the value of life, but that wasn’t Dan’s bag, and he had no interest in giving in to the request for inspiration porn or to be a source of pity. He wanted the world to wake up and change and he had finally found the cause he intended to fight for. He would fight like his life depended on it, because it did.

Sure, he felt content when he was within the strangely decorated walls of the House of Jones, but in the world beyond there was so little real contentment for the people who deserved it. He finished up his coffee, tucked his notebook in to his back pack, then wheeled to the door. It had stopped raining at least, his wheels slipped on the ramp when it was raining and he really didn’t need another fall. Not when he had appointments to keep and surgery coming up and a date with his husband. And even if the date was only a blowie followed by mac’n’cheese and a DVD marathon with the man he loved, it was enough. It was domestic, but it was enough. And really, in a world full of idiots and bad decisions and broken bones and broken nerves and buildings that weren’t wheelchair friendly, enough was good enough for Dan. 


End file.
